Garden
by Dunas Priest
Summary: A Lord compares the peanut gallery of the Caribbean to common fruits and vegetables in his attempts to humor the Governor. The Governor is left most displeased. Character study.


**Garden**

One quaint Thursday morning, a certain arrogant, yet somewhat contemplative British Lord sat at a small table and had his daily tea. Sitting across from him was an all-too-nervous Governor of Jamaica, who seemed just about ready to piss his trousers.

Yet the British Lord was in good humor, so even the Governor's stature could not deter him.

Their conversation began quite peculiarly. One moment, things were so silent and awkward and strange. Then the Lord dropped a single line: "Life is a blooming garden, isn't it, Governor? And you must agree that it is our duty as high members of society to reap what we may from its plentiful harvest."

The Governor was surprised for a moment, stunned that the silence had been broken with such an odd statement. After he recovered from his temporary trauma, however, he was ready to speak.

"But surely," argued the good Governor, "crop must be left behind for the commoners."

Poor, poor Governor. Such a foolish and frilly man! The Lord knew better and was quick to correct his grave error.

"You're quite wrong," the Lord said smoothly, using the tone that one would use to discipline a child. "Survival of the fittest it is," the Lord insisted.

The Governor stared at the Lord incredulously.

The Lord smiled. "I see that even though you have resided in this providence for so long, you know little of the garden which it offers." Proud of himself, he continued, "Perhaps I should divulge to you, then, just what kind of forbidden fruit the Caribbean grows." With a knowing smile, he added, "Starting with the grapes."

* * *

**Grapes**

I daresay that grapes are a rather favored fruit, don't you think so, Governor? … Ah, I digress. Grapes! Huge clusters of the purple, annular stuff. All growing on the same vine. And none is too different from the other, either. I daresay that eating grapes is an extremely boring sport; you needn't change tactics for any one of them. Pick just about any grape and eat it the same way; it'll digest just fine in the end.

You needn't plan out anything when it comes to grapes.

So similar are the members of society—you included, my good Governor; no harm to your pride intended, though I doubt you've any left to injure. What is society but a way to conform? Petticoats, waistcoats, corsets, hoop skirts. Fans, wigs, parasols, cravats. Propriety, manner, customs. Society all shares these things; their similarity is their downfall. The same approach works for all of them. Currency, currency, currency. Chew, chew, chew. Bargain? Swallow.

I daresay that in terms of grapes, Governor, you're just as easy to chew and swallow as the rest of them.

Not that I'd ever even consider eating you, Governor.

* * *

**Onions**

And then we have onions. The exception from the fruit group; a vegetable. Yet still of the same garden. Sharp, bitter taste and smell. Quite cutting, too. Yet so appealing when faintly flavored. Perhaps the most remarkable trait of onions is that they peel off in layers. And each new layer reveals a new hue. You see the onion and think of it as, well, maybe tan. But the more you peel it, it starts turning whiter. And greener. And finally you've peeled the onion so far in that you realize the onion wasn't tan, after all.

Not to mention that smell. The more you peel, the more you begin to tear up. It's almost as though the onion is warning you not to peel it. The result you get at the very center may not be what you wish for.

There are some in this society, good Governor, who are just like this. I daresay that many a man act like the good humanitarian in public, but as soon as you begin peeling away at his layers, the more you begin to cry at realizing he is just an ambitious little bastard who wants nothing more than everything in the world.

Governor, if you were anything like me, peeling you would be quite painful.

* * *

**Watermelons**

A watermelon is very similar to an onion, but very different. You see, my good Governor, you can't _really_ tell how ripe a watermelon is just by looking at it. You've got to cut the thing open and stick a slice of the pink-red stuff into your lips before you can really determine its quality. As someone who isn't very fond of watermelon, I can say that just pondering about it is something I find rather distasteful. I hate the unpredictable quality of watermelons.

There are many who sail the seas that I might call watermelon nature. Take one smelly-breathed dreadlocked one, for instance. He's as "watermelon" as they get, Governor. Really, upon sight you think he's just some crook. And by God, does he act like it.

The more you get to know this chap, though, the more you realize he's the ripest watermelon in the Caribbean.

You've heard of him, of course. Who hasn't heard of him the infamous pirate? Still, you don't really know him. What you can see is the smooth, striped green surface. What you can't see is the taste of his innards, so different, so delectable, so strange. You want to hate it for its differences, really. And what better way to get rid of a food than to consume it?

Oh, don't look at me that way, Governor. Didn't I just tell you that I hate watermelon?

* * *

**Peaches**

Peaches are quite a different story, Governor. They're actually quite a pleasant fruit to look at, if I don't say so myself. And the fuzz—ah, it really is quite soft. Not a more delicate fruit than the peach. The taste, too, is simply delectable. The sweetness and suppleness of peach is very good, don't you think so, Governor?

What bothers me about this would-be perfect fruit is the pit in the center. A hard pit that grinds against your teeth upon contact, sending pulsations of pain throughout your skull.

Not that I've ever made the mistake of biting hard into a peach pit, Governor.

Still, for those who don't know the peach, this can be a rather dangerous ploy. Who would ever suspect the delicate little fruit to be culprit to such heinous crime?

I daresay your daughter is just like a peach, good Governor. A lovely specimen, to be honest; looks like an angel, but has the attitude and resilience of a demon sent from hell nine times over.

I'm sure that more than just a few men have fallen into her trap of good humor and mood. That sweet smile which hides a rotten core. She's quite the vagabond, Governor.

But don't worry. I will return her safely. Without a single bite mark, too.

* * *

**Oranges**

Oranges. A horrid bunch, the lot of them. Nothing aggravates me more than an orange. You see its peel and think of it as a rather singular fruit, but once you open it, you see that it splits up into a million different little sections that look to me like massive maggot larva more than fruit. It's like it can't decide what it really wants to be, so it goes out into all these crazy different directions.

Humans are just like that. Indecisive. They have so many things they want to save, but the conditions to save each are contradictory. I daresay that your daughter's blacksmith friend has the same issue. Who does he want to save, I wonder? Himself? His father? His lady? He's so many things at stake, I wonder just how many sections he has.

There's more oranges in the Caribbean, of course. In fact, anyone who's gotten caught up with that peachy girl probably ended up an orange in my book. For example, men who search to restore their honor, themselves, and their woman? You can't possibly do all those things at once!

And besides, oranges are so damn sour. I can't stand sour fruit.

* * *

**Apples**

Apples are probably my favorite fruit, Governor, though I hardly think you care. Sweet or sour, nice and hard, with a good consistency. Nothing too tricky about apples except that the core is nigh inedible. They're quite straightforward, good Governor, and that's what I like so much about them. Unlike grapes, who are so forward that they are _easy_, apples at least have some semblance of complexity to them.

Far unlike the watermelon, you can tell the ripeness of an apple from many factors, namely the bruises on its skin. The brown spots are signs of oxidation, my good Governor. A sign of being around for far too long, dare I say.

And just like that, you can tell that some scallywags are rotten to the core. But apples don't rot completely. They rot in spots, Governor. Sometimes, a bearded scallywag with an awful accent might sometimes reveal a much different side. Or perhaps the bruising is just on the surface?

You know an apple is cunning. You know an apple is bad. But what you don't know is if the whole apple has gone awful, or if it's just something that you can only see on the front.

Oh, good Governor. I do like those apples. The person in comparison, though, is one I hope to hang.

* * *

**Pineapples**

By far the most difficult fruit, really. They've got this nasty prick on the outside shell, and it's extremely rigid, too. I would even venture to say that they are an extremely unattractive fruit, with these horrid scales growing on them. And they've got this nasty sharp flavor, to boot.

Of course people fear the pineapple. It's only natural. Even the most golden of pineapples can yield a sharp, sour overtone that quickly repels even the most venturous of cuisine explorers. Not to mention, the texture of the outside peel is simply atrocious. One must wonder why the pineapple chose to armor itself so rigidly. Perhaps an experience in the past that wounded it?

Nonetheless, there are those who live a life like the pineapple, don't you think, my good Governor? Mayhaps they lost a loved one years ago and chose to armor themselves, never letting in another soul through their coarse hide. And the appearance of this particular person—oh my, just thinking of their repulsive, slimy face deters me so.

Oh, you needn't worry yourself, Governor. I'm not speaking of you. No, never would I speak of you so poorly.

* * *

The odd little Lord seemed to be done with his strange rant about fruit and a vegetable, as he sipped a good amount of tea from his cup.

The no-longer-that-nervous Governor scrutinized the Lord, but could gain nothing from this. Sighing, he carefully took a sip of his own tea, but found that the flavor was too powerful for his weak tongue. Sighing, he put the cup back down onto its saucer.

"My Lord. The fleet is ready," said an officer as he approached the two.

The Lord put down his teacup and stood up from his seat. "Well, that was a pleasant conversation, wasn't it, my good Governor?" he said lightly. "I do hope we can have another inspirational chat once more." And with that remark, the Lord left the Governor to contemplate.

Suddenly, the Governor didn't find his platter of grapes to be all that appetizing.

* * *

A/N: Easily one of the oddest things I've ever dared to write. Oh well.


End file.
